The Heart that Sees
by SlowQuotesQuill
Summary: "During these moments, you are mine, and mine alone. You quit being the sun that the moon yearns to reach. You quit being Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, boss of a hundred-odd employees. You quit being Miles Edgeworth, seeker of truth, pursuer of justice. You, simply and quietly, become my husband." Domestic, fluffy Wrightworth.


Sometimes, when you fall asleep while reading those difficult books on the couch beside me, I observe a lot, and think a lot.

The warmth of your skin even through your shirt is so real. The light from the television screen flickers on your glasses. The fluffy blanket that you like so much envelops us both, like a barrier that separates us from the real world. Over in the next room, Trucy is probably sleeping. I'm the only one awake, but I don't really feel lonely.

Because during these moments, you are mine, and mine alone. You quit being the sun that the moon yearns to reach. You quit being Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, boss of a hundred-odd employees. You quit being Miles Edgeworth, seeker of truth, pursuer of justice. You, simply and quietly, become my husband.

Your neck is bare and your collar is unbuttoned. I can see a shapely collarbone peek at me and I grin because it is as unguarded as I will ever see you. This Edgeworth, I decide, is my favorite Edgeworth. For now. Tomorrow, I'm certain I'll see another Edgeworth, and I'll pronounce that Edgeworth as my favorite. But tonight, the Edgeworth with his cheek against my shoulder, trickling drool all over my sleeve, glasses lopsided, is my favorite.

The moon peeks through the filmy white curtains that frame the huge windows. Tonight, it is round and full, only partially obscured by dark clouds.

In your sleep, you murmur something. I don't attempt to catch it, because it does not seem to be born of bad dreams. As long as you are peaceful, I won't mind staying here and keeping still forever. It is a delicate balance.

I wonder, as I sit here beside you, loving you, thinking of you, if you are dreaming of me too.

Your legs are stretched out across the rest of the couch, and your feet are in black socks. Your slippers rest next to my bare feet on the rug. They are a deep maroon. The cold prompts me to slip into them. They're a bit large, but they are warm.

I turn my eyes to the television. I'm not really paying attention to the show anymore.

The book slips from your slackened grasp and hits the rug with a soft sound. I reach around your sleeping figure and pick it up awkwardly, but then the spell breaks.

"Phoenix..." Your gray eyes are half-open. At this moment, you are still in the soft area between dreams and reality. At this moment, I can still kiss you without making you tense up. And I do so, a lingering one on the forehead.

"Hi." My voice is rusty from hours of disuse.

"I... fell asleep." The words fall from your lips in a slurred tumble.

"Yes."

Your eyes slide closed.

"You're much too tired, Miles," I chuckle in a low voice, and you smile sleepily. You curl up against me, and I can feel our bodies wrapped up together in blanket and human warmth.

"You're very comfortable," you say. You're still half-asleep. The normal you would never admit that he liked resting against anyone, against me. I savor the trickling moments of the aftermath.

"I better bring you back to the bed," I softly suggest. "You'd sleep much better there."

"Nngh," was your answer. You have gone back to sleep. I smile and oh-so-gently lift the glasses from your nose. The space between your eyebrows, I notice fondly, was smooth and unburdened.

I'm left alone once again. I switch off the television, tired, and snuggle more closely against you. In the darkness the television has left behind, my eyes can fully appreciate the silvery light of the moon. In the silence that the television has left behind, I can distinctly hear the soothing sound of your unhurried heartbeats. I slip my fingers on your open palm, and automatically your hand closes, almost like a trusting child.

The night is my favorite time of the day. It gives me the illusion that we are fixed in time, and it is not so hard to believe that the sun won't rise later when you're sitting in darkness with the one you love the most.

However, the clock in the dining room I can hear from here too. It's ticking away, and I imagine the pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a countdown of the inevitable.

But for now, let me wish for a bit, let me drown in the illusion. Okay?

Your slight, contented smile means yes.

Under this blanket, I own all of you, and you own all of me too. I can love all of you, and you can love all of me too.

That is, before the morning arrives, and takes you away from me once more.


End file.
